The Staff
by The Toe of Sauron
Summary: Four times Belial did his job and the one time he didn't. Unofficial End-of-the-Beginning-verse.
1. His Highness Collects a Stray

**The Staff**

**(Four Times Belial Did His Job and the One Time He Didn't)**

Rated T for Shiro's foul mouth.

A very gracious thank you to SuperiorDimwit who was kind enough to let me take the wheel for this character. This takes place (unofficially) in her The End of the Beginning-verse.

Blue Exorcist belong to Kazue Kato and Viz Media. TEofB-verse belongs to SuperiorDimwit. I own neither but enjoy playing with both.

(Chapter takes place after chapter 15 in the Terra arc, after Shiro is attacked by the tengu in the woods.)

* * *

Chapter One: His Highness Collects a Stray

Belial knows everything that occurs within the Faust Mansion.

He knows where Ukobach hides his extensive stash of bourbon (under the stairs leading down into the lower pantry). He knows the scullery maids often join him—after His Highness has retired to His office for the night—for a session of careful, quiet grumbling and a few rounds of shots (but never to excess; it wouldn't do for His Highness to show up unannounced (as He does) to find His staff sprawled across the servant's table sloshed out of their senses).

He knows that the Housekeeper (Erynes, a lovely woman) spends the evening in her room with a tub of ice cream and a bottle of rum (and mixes them together into a gallon-sized, delightfully tasty slurry) to catch up on her American soap operas (All My Children).

Nothing occurs within the walls that Belial does not find out about. And so, when His Highness appears in the main parlor holding (supporting, rather) a half-conscious and bloodied teenager (Belial notes that His Highness is careful to keep that blood away from His own clothing; fastidiousness being one of His Highness's traits that Belial is extremely grateful for, as blood is so difficult to scrub out) Belial is on scene almost immediately.

The teenager—a lanky, scrawny thing with bleach-blond hair—sways against His Highness's shoulder. As Belial draws near, he squints and says, "Oi, who's the stiff?"

Belial ignores him in favor of His Highness.

"Send someone to fetch Mayu-chan," His Highness says. He glances to the teenager (or more precisely, to the blood seeping through his shirt) and wrinkles His nose.

"Shall I take him to one of the guest rooms?" Belial says.

His Highness considers this a moment. And then grins (it's the kind that makes Belial's guts squirm a little and he's glad it's not directed at him).

"No. Set him up in my quarters after he's stopped leaking. And do something with _that_." His Highness gestures to the teenager's outfit, torn and shredded and filthy. "Use one of the summer robes, the pink one, I think."

The boy is young and thin, not His Highness's usual type. But Belial has been in service to His Highness for a long time, even by demon standards, and so he takes it all in stride.

"Of course," he says.

His Highness lets go of the teenager—who squawks out an aborted, "The shit?"

But Belial catches him (still mindful not to dirty his own clothing; His Highness has standards for His Staff, after all).

The boy still squints up at Belial. He says, "The fuck are you?"

He's surprisingly weighty, and Belial wonders if perhaps his first impression was wrong. But His Highness whirls around and says, "I'll return later~."

And disappears.

"Where's this?" the boy says. He tries to straighten, fails, and knocks back into Belial. "Ugh, shit, can't even see straight."

Pain wafts from him like heat waves over sun-baked asphalt. Up close, it smells to Belial dark and sweet (much the way like His Highness takes His tea) and it's tempting to try just a sip. But the boy is obviously His Highness's plaything (in whatever form that may be; Belial doesn't know, yet). And so Belial does as His Highness bids.

"The hell kinda place _is_ this?" the boy says.

His Highness's quarters, thankfully, remain close by (when His Highness gets bored (as he does with alarming regularity) he tends to rearrange the layout of the mansion). The boy gasps when Belial sets him on a chair next to His Highness's bed; he tucks his left arm close to his side. Through his torn clothing, Belial glimpses shredded, seeping meat.

One of the footmen steps into the room. Belial reaches into his pocket to fish out the set of keys His Highness entrusts to him.

"Go to the supply shop and awaken Moriyama-san," Belial says. "Tell her we'll need medical dressing, a disinfectant, and," he pauses, takes in the boy's tight, rapid breathing and graying skin, "something for pain. Hurry."

The footman bows and, in the same movement, turns and leaves.

The boy keeps looking around. Behind his glasses, his pupils are blown wide. "Where is this? Where'd the clown go?"

Belial suspects he knows what the boy means by "clown" but doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, he says, "I'll need to remove your clothing, sir."

The boy stares at him for a moment. Then his eyebrows come together. "Whoa, what now? Listen, I don't—"

Young but feisty. Perhaps he _is_ His Highness's type?

But Belial is His Highness's highest-ranking servant, and when His Highness tells Belial to take care of the boy's clothing, he's going to do exactly that. It only takes a moment for him to study the boy (summoning energy to put up a fight). Belial doesn't let it get that far.

A straight shot to the shoulder. It's a short jab, nothing too hard, and Belial makes sure to land the hit just beneath the boy's wound (no sense in making the injury worse).

"Fuh!" the boy says. And then his eyes roll back and Belial catches him before he can swoon (and mess up the chair's upholstery).

"Kimris," Belial says and one of the chamber maids steps forward. "Go to the closet and fetch me His Highness's pink yukata."

Kimris has been with the Staff long enough to know better than to question this. She bows and does as Belial asks.

Belial, in the meantime, begins to peel the t-shirt off.

The wound has been cleaned (crudely). It's seeping again. Something large has taken a bite into the boy. Belial bends down to sniff the gashes (they smell of salt and copper and that heady scent of pain) and detects no trace of rot.

The boy _is_ a scrawny thing, all bone and lank. But he's got the promise to grow into a wider frame.

Belial strips the rest of his clothes off and Kimris lays the yukata on the bedding beside him. She takes the boy's clothes without Belial needing to tell her (he makes a mental note of this; loyalty _and_ intelligence are hard to find) and leaves the room.

And then they wait (Belial holds the boy up so that he bleeds only on himself).

The bedroom door opens up and the scent of cool and damp and night air wafts in. Moriyama-san carries the scent of flowers with her. She always has, it doesn't matter which season it is. She spots Belial and his charge immediately.

"Oh!" she says. "What's this? Sayuri!"

Moriyama-san's daughter bustles in after her (the footman trailing after her to close the door behind them), arms full of bandages and two, small covered pots.

"He's been wounded," Belial says.

"Well, I can see that," Moriyama-san says. Coming from anyone else, it may have been disrespectful. But Belial has known Moriyama-san her whole life and there's not a shred of rudeness in her tiny frame.

Belial holds the boy up so she can inspect the wounds.

"Did he say what happened?" she says.

"No."

She purses her lips and prods delicately at the torn edges of the boy's shoulder. "Well, it's deep, but it shouldn't do any permanent damage. Do you know if it's poisoned?"

"It is not."

Moriyama-san sighs and says, "I'll just have to clean it and stitch it up. When did he pass out?"

"A few moments ago. I believe the pain may have gotten to him."

Moriyama-san arches an eyebrow at him. But she all she says is, "Sweetie, bring those over here."

And she gets to work.

It's fascinating to watch humans tend to themselves this way. When a demon (even a lowly creature such as he) is injured, its spirit mends itself back together almost instantly. But humans, with such weak spirits, are much slower. They must literally sew their flesh back together. It's a messy process. Moriyama-san's daughter sits close by, a rag in one hand, to mop the leaking wound.

When it's done—and the boy's shoulder is a line of pink, inflamed flesh dotted with ugly, black threading—Moriyama-san dabs a strongly-scented ointment (Belial has to produce a handkerchief from his front pocket to keep his nose from running) over the jagged lines. She gently wraps it in clean bandages and tapes the end down.

"That should do it," she says. "We'll have to find out more when he wakes up, make sure I don't have to whip up an anti-toxin. Did Sir Pheles—"

(It's remarkable when humans manage a semblance of decorum.)

"—leave further instructions?"

"The boy is to recuperate here," Belial says.

This time, both eyebrows arch up. Moriyama-san says, "Ah. Well, that's all I can manage for tonight. If you don't mind, we'll stay here until he's feeling better, make sure he doesn't need anything else. Where would—"

She gestures to the blood-soaked rags and the sewing needle. Belial nods before she can finish and one of the laundry maids steps through the door.

"Oh, thank you," Moriyama-san says as the maid gathers the materials. She eyes the folded yukata on the bed. A smile tugs at her lips. "I see Sir Pheles still has a sense of humor."

Belial glances to the yukata. He blinks. Moriyama-san catches the expression and waves her hand.

"Oh, never mind," she says. "Here, I'll help you change him."

It's quick work with the two of them. The younger Moriyama-san stands to the side and is careful not to look in their direction. Until she thinks they aren't looking at her, when she then sneaks a peak (the young ones are especially fascinating; faint traces of a hormone cocktail (she's curious, at the very least) drift over to Belial).

Then they boy is wrapped up and tucked beneath His Highness's duvet (Belial feels a twinge at this, but His Highness _did_ order it). Moriyama-san then plucks up a small, black case and cracks it open to pull out a silver syringe.

"A little morphine," she says. And glances at him in a significant way. "For the pain."

"Of course," Belial says.

The boy's breathing shifts deeper. He's out. Another of the maids takes the used needle away and Moriyama-san gathers up the rest of her things.

"Shall I show you to a guest room?" Belial says.

"Is there one nearby?" Moriyama-san says. "I want to be near in case he wakes."

Belial is no doctor, but even he can tell that with the amount of morphine she gave the boy, that's unlikely. He steps out of His Highness's room and is completely unsurprised to see a door has appeared across the hall.

"There is," he says.

Moriyama-san smiles again and inclines her head. "I would love to. Thank you. And thank Sir Pheles for me, if you run into him first?"

"Of course," Belial says.

The two women retire into their rooms for the night. Belial snags one of the chamber maids to tell Ukobach to be on call should they require anything. Then he turns to survey the boy. So thin, so pale against the dark purple of His Highness's bedding.

Whatever it is His Highness is planning for the boy, Belial is a simple butler, and it's none of his concern.

He closes the door.

* * *

AN: I'll try to have this updated on Saturdays.


	2. His Highness Has a Problem

This one takes place during chapters 49-51 of the Terra arc.

* * *

**2\. His Highness Has a Problem**

His Highness's wards collapse like a thunderclap. The walls of the mansion shiver. Somewhere in the distance, china crashes and a maid shrieks. Belial has less than a second to process this before space itself _bends_.

Belial has been under His Highness's employment the longest of any other. As such, he knows what His Highness's power feels like. Humans find it, as the Fujimoto boy had put it, "fucking awful as hell" (as they should; such magic is not meant for them). But it's deeply unpleasant for demons, too (even for His Highness's siblings—the Earth King, while never what one would call "expressive," still manages to look a little, well, green whenever His Highness deems it necessary to transport him here in such a fashion).

The Faust mansion is a patchwork puzzle of rooms His Highness adds or subtracts to at whim (never mind how difficult that makes things for the Staff). When his wards go down, when his power _fails_ (and Belial has never had to use that word in this application; it, too, is deeply unpleasant) that connection of tunnels and passages, doorways and corridors and secret rooms, all jam together and wrench apart.

The world shifts. It takes less than a second and it knocks the Staff to the floor.

Including Belial.

He recovers quickly (it wouldn't do for the Staff to see him sprawled on the tiles with the rest of them). He's on his feet, choking his stomach back down to where it belongs, and straightening his vest and jacket before anyone so much as notices.

"What?" Kimris says.

She'd been carrying a stack of linens. They, like the Staff, are scattered.

"What just happened?" another maid asks (she's new and still on her probationary period, and so Belial hasn't asked her name, yet).

Kimris glances to him. He sees the knowledge in her eyes: she knows what has happened.

And she knows what will happen next.

"Everyone, to your feet," Belial says.

Heeled shoes pound in the hall. Rapidly. The Housekeeper, Erynes, bursts into the room (it had been the service way to the kitchen, and now it's one of the formal dining rooms).

She has taken the body of an elderly woman—soft, round face and a softer, rounder body (what His Highness had declared, "Perfect! The elderly matron to the household!" and then he'd insisted she wear a day cap as part of her uniform). But now, either due to the shock of what's occurred or simply in preparation of what's to come, her true form is showing: snakes roil beneath that day cap, poking their heads from the lacy edges to taste the air; her eyes burn a hot orange; yellowed talons tip her fingers.

"What's going on?" the new maid says (she's young, even by human standards).

And then she hears it.

It sounds like buzzing. It sounds like growling, the moaning of wind, the snarl of a dog.

Because it _is_ those things.

Demons obey a strict hierarchy: the strong dominate and the weak obey. His Highness's wards (his presence alone, really) keeps this, his territory, off limits to the lesser demons that swarm True Cross Town below. But His power has vanished as if it were never here (Belial doesn't know what that even means, because he knows what His Highness has sealed below and he knows it cannot be moved that quickly (unless the unimaginable has occurred, which hasn't, because His Highness would never allow it)).

That leaves a massive power vacuum.

"The carrion crows have scented blood," Belial says.

"Not one piece of that trash gets in here," Erynes says (she really is a remarkable woman). "You all hear me?"

"Kimris," Belial says. "Get to the west wing, rally the Staff there. We stand our ground. Anything that breaches the perimeter dies."

"Right," she says. She takes off at a run (Belial makes a note to consider her for a promotion).

"I've got this section," Erynes says (and Belial believes her). She catches his eye and nods. He nods back.

Defending the Faust Mansion is tantamount. It's His Highness's personal space, the jewel of His territory, the crown sitting atop True Cross Town. It's a matter of personal honor for it to be taken by some low-level riff-raff, even if it is temporary.

Normally, this wouldn't concern servants like Belial; His Highness's territory is His to carve out and defend. But Belial is the longest-serving member of His Staff. He knows His Highness, and whatever has occurred, it won't last long.

Belial is a professional. It's his job to keep the Staff in order, to keep His Highness's things neat and tidy (no matter how difficult His Highness makes that job). When His Highness returns (he will), Belial _will_ have kept His things in order.

And that includes his collection of human children.

"You three," he says to two parlor maids and a footman named Sebastien. "With me."

Glass shatters. A demon (Helhound, it sounds like) howls and someone (Erynes) shrieks and cacophony erupts.

Belial doesn't run (decorum~) inside the mansion. He does, however, walk very quickly.

To the front door, where the buzzing is the loudest. As he reaches for the door handle, the windows shatter. Glass explodes in. Belial raises an arm to shield his face and when he lowers it, it's to find a blood-wasp sticking its head through the shattered window frame.

Belial takes a moment to remove his gloves (blood is so difficult to scrub out). The wasp thrashes, beating its body against the frame; the window it tall but narrow, and it won't fit unless it figures out to turn sideways (insect demons, however, are stupid and it's unlikely that will happen). Belial folds his gloves, tucks them into the front pocket of his waist coat.

And decapitates the wasp.

His own claws are nowhere near as long (or sharp) as His Highness's. But they suffice and it's a clean stroke.

The head bounces in, mandibles still clicking. The body continues to thrash, wings still buzzing, but without a head, there's no control and it spins off to slam into a wall outside.

"Remove that," Belial says, gesturing to the head. Sebastien scurries forward to pluck it up and toss it back outside.

He opens the door, steps out. Three more of the things batter themselves against other windows. Without instructions, the two parlor maids dart forward. One leaps onto the back of a wasp and tears its wings off. The other lengthens, shedding her human guise in favor of a serpentine body and a (very) wicked set of (highly poisonous) fangs. She strikes. She and her target both bash into the side of the mansion (the damage to the building is cosmetic but Belial still feels his eyebrow twitch).

The first wasp (the one without a head) flops and thrashes in the rosebushes (which is a shame, they'd just been trimmed). The only way to kill a demon is to kill the heart. Belial isn't entirely sure where in a wasp the heart would be. So he guts it entirely (the clean-up for this is going to be a nightmare).

The sound of fighting carries on the wind (along with the scent of blood and fear and pain, with just a _tinge_ of excitement). Belial turns to the driveway that curves around and down into True Cross Town.

Even from up here, he can smell the stink of hot metal and the pungent tang of gunfire. In any other instance, he could have, perhaps, mistaken the distant popping below for fireworks. But not now.

This time, Belial runs.

* * *

Minor demons swarm the school. This isn't the cram school (where budding exorcists learn to use their claws), but the regular school, the human school, the one where the students can't see the demons that run amock amongst them.

Belial steps to the side as a gaggle of young ones scurry, screeching, away from (what must look to them) an inexplicable, raging inferno—it's actually a fire salamander. Flames envelope its red hide. As it slithers down the hall, those flames lick posters and door frames, setting them alight.

"Check the classrooms," Belial says.

The naga maid slithers off to his left, the second maid and the footman to his right. Leaving the lizard to Belial.

It eyes him for a moment. It's low-level, not very bright and not exceptionally powerful.

"_wHoO?_" it says in a voice no human can hear.

"You are trespassing," Belial says.

The salamander champs tiny, pointy teeth.

"_mEaT_," it says.

And a human child slips out of a burning classroom not two feet from the demon. The boy doesn't see the lizard, only the flames dancing in midair, and he freezes.

"_**mEaT!**_" the demon says.

(Belial sighs in his head.)

It lunges, jaw unhinging, tongue slathering out to grab the child.

But Belial is faster.

He is a pebble compared to the mountain of power His Highness possesses. But it's a pebble from the same mountain. His Highness can bend space (and time) with nothing more than a crook of His finger. He can (and does) arrange an entire room with a glance (adding a swimming pool to the library, for instance). He waltzes between the folds of the universe, saunters through the cracks of time.

Belial cannot bend space. But he can wrinkle it (very slightly).

One step and he's ten feet from the lizard. The next, and he's hopped that distance, grabbing the child by the arm and whirling him out of the lizard's path.

The salamander screeches. It turns.

Belial shoves the child away, hopes it has the sense to keep running. And then the salamander is on him.

"_**mEaT!**_" it says. (Not much of a vocabulary on this one.)

"No," Belial says.

The salamander chomps at him. He skips back. It lunges again, the heat of it roiling in the hall (and the damage this is going to do to Belial's uniform is catastrophic). This time, he doesn't dodge. He waits until it almost has him, until its hot, dry breath washes over him. And then he brings his fist down right between the thing's eyes.

Belial is a mid-level demon. That's enough to slam the salamander's head into the tile flooring hard enough to crack it. Before the lesser demon can recover, before it can do much more than gurgle and wheeze, Belial grabs it by the lower jaw and wrenches the head (and a good half of the torso) up into the air.

He's somewhat more familiar with salamander anatomy. He buries his claws into the pale underbelly, right below the throat. Black miasma gushes out (and down his sleeve, this jacket is _ruined_). His claws pierce the demon's heart. Just to be sure, he squeezes and rips it out, too.

The salamander lays there, twitching for a moment and vomiting black miasma. And then it stills, before the flesh begins to sizzle off in black smoke.

The child is nowhere to be seen (it had the sense to run, then).

Something crashes in the distance. Children scream and a demon moans.

Belial sighs, out loud this time (his uniform jacket it beyond repair).

He heads towards the noise.

* * *

Belial isn't sure how long he goes about killing lesser demons. Occasionally, he catches glimpses of the second maid (her dress spattered and tattered; His Highness is going to be exceedingly displeased when he has to replace the Staff's entire wardrobe). Sebastien crashes through the wall into a classroom at one point on the back of an oni. Both are wounded, but it's the footman who succeeds in wrenching the oni's head off before stabbing it through the chest with its own horn.

The humans continue to run.

Belial steps out into the hall. This quadrant has been mostly cleared, but he pauses for a moment to listen (something crunching upstairs and down the hall, he'll have to make sure it's not a casualty being chewed on).

The air ripples. It's a small thing, almost unnoticeable. But Belial drops and spins and the hall roars with a gunshot.

An exorcist. Her teeth are bared, her eyes wide and wild. Miasma streaks her face and her glasses.

"Goddamn demons!" she snarls.

She's aiming at him.

Belial lifts his hands and says, "Pardon me, Miss, but I'm not the enemy."

"Like hell!" she says. She takes aim. She's going to fire.

And then the air _shifts_.

Belial knows this power (_why_ did it take so long?).

His Highness appears in the hall right behind the exorcist. He reaches down and snatches the gun from her hands.

"Isayama-san," he says. "That one's mine. I would appreciate it if you didn't shoot him."

"Wha-" the young lady says. She blinks a moment, says, "Sir Pheles?"

Belial stares.

His Highness looks _horrible_. Miasma stains His face, the front of His hakama, His hands. His skin has a pallor to it, a lingering sickness that Belial has never thought to see on one such as He (_exorcism;_ it would explain everything but the mere _thought_...).

More than that (and this is the part that turns Belials's intestines inside out), His Highness looks _furious_.

That gaze can (and has) leveled mountain ranges. That gaze can (and has) sunk entire islands into the sea. That gaze can (and has) wiped civilizations from the map.

It skitters across Belial and his mind blanks out for a moment.

"Belial~," His Highness says in a voice that very nearly blinds Belial. "Your clothing is filthy."

"I," Belial says. "Yes, master."

His Highness glances around (noting the lack of human bodies, Belial hopes), taking in the charred doors (the salamander had come this way), the rubble, the dust, and the oily smears where lesser demons had died.

"Return to the mansion," His Highness says.

"Of course, master," Belial says and bows.

Just as the ceiling crashes down behind him. An ogre tumbles out, wrapped in the coils of the naga-maid (what's left of her uniform hangs in shreds from her scaled hide).

"Oh~?" His Highness says.

The naga looks up, sees Him, and freezes. The ogre takes advantage of this and wraps his hands around her throat.

"Well that won't do," His Highness says.

He snaps his fingers.

The ceiling opens and a massive clock pendulum (it's an exact match to the one in the grand foyer) drops out. It hits the ogre. The ogre disappears in a puff of red mist.

Leaving the naga slumped against the wall. (She has the presence of mind to duck her head into a low bow.)

His Highness surveys her as well (noting, Belial thinks, with displeasure the state of her dress, or rather, what used to be her dress).

"How many of them did you bring down here?" His Highness says.

"Three, master," Belial says.

"Hmm."

It's not exactly a happy sound. But it's not a terrible one, either (Belial hopes).

"Collect them. Clean yourselves up. I'll return shortly."

Belial has been part of His Highness's staff longer than any other demon. He's seen what His Highness is capable of.

He's never been so glad to be dismissed.

The strong dominate the weak. As the weak are about to be reminded of.

The naga joins Belial as they retreat toward the exit. Behind them, His Highness wades deeper into the school.

* * *

AN: Mephisto's staff is the motherfucking A-Team, _I will fight you on this_. Also, in researching the hat that Erynes (has to) wear, I had to start with "head doily." That is a term that actually exists. You're welcome.

So this is the part where I started taking liberties (Belial being related to Mephisto). It's, like, super-duper distantly, though, in the same way that I'm related to the first _homo sapiens_ who meandered into Europe thousands of years ago.

Thank everyone who followed this or favorited this or commented! It really makes my day.


	3. His Highness is Bored

Takes place before chapter 17 of TEofB arc 2 ("Pulling Strings").

* * *

**3\. His Highness is Bored**

The first clue that something has Gone Terribly Wrong (capitalized because a catastrophe of this magnitude is a proper noun), comes 2.4 seconds after Belial steps into His Highness's room with His customary tray of tea.

His Highness is not there.

It takes Belial a moment to truly register this (not curled up before his large screen television, not sprawled amongst the cushions next to the bookshelf, not even with company on the bed). He stops for a moment and blinks.

Belial steps back out into the hall to stare at the door, waiting for it to explain.

It does not.

This is disconcerting.

Belial takes a breath and calms himself; His Highness is a king. As such, His Highness is, on occasion, called away to matters that are none of Belial's concern (though He usually notifies Belial so His servant can have things ready upon His return). This must simply be one of them. Belial takes the tray back to the kitchen (where Ukobach is just pulling his shot glasses out).

The scullery maids clustered around the Staff's dining table stop their chattering. Even Ukobach pauses (it's not a feeling of dread creeping into the air like some cancerous smoke, Belial will not allow such thoughts).

"His Highness will not be taking tea this evening," he says.

(Though the sharp spike of fear from the maids—a cinnamon tang—comes close to that feeling.)

"_Why?_" Ukobach says in no human language. (He doesn't quite fidget, though its close).

"His Highness is out," Belial says.

(It _could_, perhaps, be dread.)

His Highness has a loose routine he usually adheres to (though being His Highness, He occasionally delights in blowing that routine sky-high just because He can). When it changes, things can become… _difficult_ for the Staff. And they all know it.

"Oh, no," one of the scullery maids says, burying her face in her arms. "Please no."

"I'm sure His Highness will be back soon," Belial says (which actually means "whenever He wishes to"). "Please remain on call until then."

Ukobach stares at him for a good ten seconds before slowly (very slowly) putting his shot glass down.

At the table, one of the scullery maids begins to weep softly. Belial does the gentlemanly thing and does not comment.

* * *

The second clue that something has Gone Terribly Wrong presents itself the next morning when Belial emerges from his room (having only been in there two hours, waiting for the summons that precedes His Highness's return which never came) and something crunches underfoot.

Belial takes a step back. A crumpled piece of paper lies on the floor. It's shiny, candy-striped in pink and white and it sits quite alone.

(Really, the Staff could very well have reason to be concerned, but that's hardly an excuse to forsake their duties.)

The hallways is deserted, not a single chamber maid in sight. Belial represses a sigh and bends down to pick it up himself.

Which is when he hears it: the pitter-patter of tiny, metal legs.

It's from a millennia's worth of built-up instinct that Belial vaults with one hand off the floor, twists the lower half of his body through the air, and just misses getting hit in the face by a black and white blur.

His Highness's wastebasket flies through the space Belial's head had occupied. It lands on its head, flaps its jaw, and manages to pirouette back to its feet clutching the candy wrapper. Which it downs with a little flip.

"Bravo~!" His Highness says.

Belial looks up. And wishes he hadn't.

His Highness sits on the ceiling (His hair and clothing bend to His wishes and hang properly towards what is, from His vantage point, the floor). He pulls another candy (blue with white polka dots) and twists it open. The wastebasket hops near Belial's feet, whining and squeaking in a terribly undignified manner.

His Highness pops the candy into His mouth and surveys the two of them for a moment.

Though Belial has a whisper of influence over space, time remains murky and elusive to him. And yet this moment brushes his senses, a silken fin ghosting his spine just beneath the surface of his perception.

His Highness smiles.

And drops the wrapper. Right behind Belial, putting him between the basket and its prize.

The wastebasket squeals and dives. Belial leaps to the side (far less smoothly, this time; the basket catches the end of his tailcoat with its passing).

"Master," Belial starts to protest. And stops.

His Highness is grinning. It's not the sly slip He wore the night he dropped off the Fujimoto boy. It's not the miasma-stained gash the day His defenses slipped. This is the smile He wears when He finds something new to His liking, the one crowned in too-bright eyes and a tangible air of excitement.

He pulls out another candy.

* * *

Three hours. That's how long it takes for the third clue to drop (not that it's needed by this point), for His Highness to grow weary of His game, for the Staff (perched atop the furniture, leaping from one piece to the other like some deluded children's game of the-floor-is-lava (stalked by the wastebasket; despite His Highness's best encouragement, it cannot yet climb that far up)) to begin to calm down (and climb down).

The halls no longer echo with the tip-tapping of tiny legs, no longer squeal with metallic delight. His Highness, also, has gone mysteriously silent (no one says it but Belial knows they all think it: please no).

But life continues and this is the Faust Mansion. Decorum and Order will be maintained.

And so Belial rallies the Staff (coaxes one footman down from the grand chandelier, one from atop the china cabinet, and two laundry maids out from inside one of the washing machines, he still doesn't know how they both fit in there).

It's very nearly noon, and His Highness will be needing lunch.

(No one says it but they all think it: a meal could keep His Highness distracted.)

Belial finds most of the Staff in the kitchens (he's not surprised; the wastebasket had tried to enter once and Ukobach had gone after it with a spatula—the dents pockmarking its hide won't be disappearing any time soon). They're very eager resume _that_ duty (no one says it).

Thirty minutes later and Belial leaves with a tray bearing His Highness's meal. He stops by the entryway to collect the day's mail.

Down a corridor, something chimes. It sounds like a piano key. And then a maid shrieks.

It's a long sound, a loud sound, echoing slightly as it tapers off, as if the creature's been thrown off a cliff.

Belial pauses. It's a small thing, a fraction of a second, yet enough to make Erynes (not quite fretting over the scuffs and dents in the tiled floor) take one look at Belial and visibly wilt.

But Belial squares himself before anyone else notices. He sets the mail on the tray, and sets himself off down the hall.

To get from the kitchens to His Highness's bedchamber (and entertaining parlor, but the two are often the same), Belial must pass through His Highness's second-favorite room in the mansion. Modeled after the palace in Versailles, the Hall of Mirrors is a point of pride for many of the Staff. Large, arched windows let golden light pour over the polished, marble floor. Chrystal chandeliers twinkle in the evening as the sun sinks towards the horizon.

It's a room of opulence, of beauty, of pride.

And now the gathering point for a gaggle of Staff.

"What's going on?" Belial says (with the slightest hint of Disapproval in his voice).

The Staff parts and he finds Kimris standing at the edge of the marble tiles.

"My lord," she says. She glances over her shoulder. Though she stands quite still, Belial can still feel the faint vibration of trepidation from her, thrumming just beneath her skin. "It's the floor."

Belial waits for an explanation.

"It collapsed beneath Rupel," one of the maids says. "She… she took a step and it _dinged_ and the next one just dropped out beneath her. I… I don't know where she went."

Belial steps to the edge of the hall. The flooring tiles have been rearranged. They still _feel_ like tiles—solid marble—but just below, where the humming of the foundation should be, there's… nothing. A void (and Belial can't sense the wayward maid at all, she's _gone_).

"Which tile did she step on?" Belial says.

Kimris points.

A black tile, surrounded on all sides by white. Belial taps it with his foot. It chimes (the note from earlier, a piano key). He eyes the rest of the hall, the pattern of the black tiles, weighs it against the hall's distance. And very nearly sighs.

Just to be sure, he taps the next tile with his foot. It holds. Its neighbor does not (and when it opens into the cool, echoing void below, a tiny shiver runs from the base of his skull to the tip of his tail).

"It's a song," Belial says. "The correct sequence will get you across. The wrong one…."

The gaping chasm speaks for itself. After a moment, the tile reappears and the floor is solid once more.

"So which song is the right one?" Kimris says.

* * *

It's not forty minutes later when another maid bursts into the servant's quarters, her hair falling out of her bun. Belial (who was not sitting down), is on his feet, waistcoat straightened, hair smoothed back down before she can open her mouth.

"My lord," the maid says. "Come quick."

For one moment (just one, that he will never, ever admit to) Belial considers closing the door in her face. Instead he follows her through the winding passageways to the laundry room. Where, once again, he's greeted by a gaggle of the Staff standing around the door.

(It's only the second time, but he's already developed a Pavlovian response to the sight, as if someone had placed a large stone over his heart.)

Then he hears it: the crying.

A maid spins within the laundry room. It takes Belial a moment to understand what his physical eyes are telling him. The maid isn't connected to the ground. She's not connected to anything. She hovers about three feet from the floor, her clothing and her hair floating out about her as if she were underwater, spinning slowly in cartwheels in midair.

"I _can't reach_," she says through tears when she sees him.

Beside her, the linens drift lazily up towards the corner of the ceiling. Two other maids has managed to latch onto the cupboards (their hair drifting in a cloud around their faces). The lid of the washing machine is open and globules of water hover like soap bubbles all around them.

It takes so much effort not to sigh.

"It appears the gravity is off," Belial says.

The maid who fetched him gapes for a moment. She looks to her fellows inside. She utters a phrase Belial will not repeat.

"I can't reach!" the twirling maid inside says. She scrabbles for the floor, for the walls, for anything, all to no avail. She's a few inches shy of any of them. "Make it stop! Get me out of here!"

A commotion in the gaggle and when Belial glances over, it's to find Erynes (not quite) glaring at him.

Belial nods.

He strips off his jacket, hands it to her (folded, which she takes without wrinkling it and when This is over—whatever This is—he's going to join her and that bottle of rum).

"You," he says to the maid who fetched him. "And you three. We're going to form a chain."

* * *

Less than an hour after that, Belial (not quite) marches down the hall bearing a silver serving tray with His Highness's afternoon tea. Whether it's because His interest has shifted elsewhere or (more likely) because He knows what Belial brings, Belial finds himself arriving at His Highness's bedchambers largely un-harassed (he has to skirt around the grand ballroom, which has not only inexplicably moved to the center of the main hallway, but is now filled with the mansion's furniture spinning around the room engaged in some kind of foxtrot).

Belial reaches His Highness's bedchambers and knocks on the door.

To his immense relief, His Highness replies. "Come in~"

"Master," Belial says, bowing. The china on the tray doesn't so much as shift. He straightens. And pauses.

The room is quiet. The TV remains against the wall is silent. The books sit straight and untouched on their shelves. The arcade games are dead and dark in their corner. His Highness lays on His bed, staring up at the ceiling. He turns His head at Belial's silence and a small frown slips between his eyebrows.

(Belial realizes, to his horror, that in his haste to fetch His Highness's tea, he hadn't noticed that the left sleeve of his jacket is scrunched up around his forearm.)

"My apologies, Master," Belial says, folding himself into another bow. "The Staff has been rather busy today."

His Highness hums and motions Belial over (who has, by now, smoothed his sleeve down properly). Belial holds the tray while he sets down the teapot and china, the pots of cream and sugar, and a plate of scones with clotted cream and raspberry jam. His Highness watches him (quite closely; Belial will never say it, but it's rather unnerving to be the center of His attention).

When Belial is finished, he takes a step back, bows again. His Highness reaches lethargically for the teapot.

"Master, it would make the laundry maids' job much more efficient if they could attend their duties in the regular way."

His Highness glances to him again. He sighs.

And then it hits Belial with all the subtlety of a freight truck barreling down a highway, smashing into the unwary deer who dared step into its path. A shock-wave of heat and then ice sweeps over Belials's skin. And as the metaphorical pieces fling into the air and come down again, he notices (with extreme distress) that his hands tremble.

Belial folds them very carefully. He takes a near-silent, but deep breath. And says, "Master, how may I be of service to you?"

His Highness drops one sugar cube, two, three into his cup. He opens His mouth. And says, "How tedious the doldrums of the day."

It sounds to Belial as if the bells of Notre Dame herself clang inside his skull. The cacophony reverberates down his spine, strums along his ribcage, and turns his insides to pudding.

(He won't say it. He _won't_.)

His Highness is bored.

(One thousand and one voices shriek in unison with the cathedral's bells.)

(They sound very much like the Staff.)

"I see," Belial says after a moment. He's not a word-smith, but this response falls short of even the barest idiocy. (To be fair, he's somewhat sidetracked by the multitude of contingency plans his mind is throwing up, the first and foremost involving the evacuation of the mansion. Except the city itself belongs to His Highness and so there's no real place to hide.)

It may be the answer that draws His Highness's attention. It may be the slight silence that follows. Belial will never know (but will curse them both to the end of his days). Either way, His Highness regards him again and (to his everlasting shame), Belial panics.

"Ukobach will begin preparing dinner soon," he says. "Were there any changes to the menu, Master?"

His Highness's eyes are a flat, dulled green most of the time, as they are when the (fateful) words leave Belial's mouth. As those words float across the space between them, Belial realizes the trap he's just set, baited, and walked into, and it's far too late to snare those words back again.

His Highness's eyes glow. Literally.

(Now it's one thousand and two voices screaming.)

"Dinner?" His Highness says. "Hmm~ I haven't done that in a while."

* * *

Erynes meets him out in the hall. She can tell instantly that something has gone horribly wrong. Belial tucks the tray against his side and meets her gaze.

"His Highness going to cook," he says. "For us."

Erynes has seen no less than a dozen empires rise and fall, thousands of cities burned and sacked, death and destruction beyond measure.

Erynes has to sit down. Right there, on the floor. She looks up at Belial, opens her mouth to speak and her lips tremble. "You have to do something."

A multitude of contingency plans rage through his mind, and the torrent is focusing on one target.

"I know," he says.

He holds out a hand to her, helps her to her feet. She takes the tray from him and he reaches into his pocket for the ring of keys His Highness has entrusted to him.

"Where are you going?" Erynes says.

"To find Fujimoto-kun," Belial says.

The closest door with a lock is one of the guest bedrooms (something is screeching and thrashing around, and Belial isn't going to find out what it is). He inserts the key.

"Hurry," Erynes says.

Belial opens the door, takes a step through and emerges into the boy's dormitories.

* * *

**AN: **Holy crap-biscuits, almost didn't finish that one in time. Thanks again to all the favoriters/followers/reviewers! You guys make posting this awesome.


	4. His Highness Makes a Bet

This takes place somewhere between the last chapter and chapter 47: One Night Stand. It's the point where I'm just making shit up.

* * *

**4\. His Highness Makes a Bet**

It's somewhere between very late and very early when the door chimes. Belial, in the study across from the main foyer, frowns. He sets down his pen, closes the accounts notebook, and stands.

The Faust mansion isn't expecting company. And mortals can't actually approach from the front door (not without His Highness's permission, giving with extreme reluctance and grumblings of, "No sense of humor.") But His Highness is out and, theoretically, no one should be able to reach that door.

Belial's waistcoat and jacket are already straightened, but he smooths them anyway (no sense in taking that chance). Belial opens the door. And blinks.

Fujimoto-kun is slumped (yet still managing to sway) against one of the front pillars. When he sees Belial, his face twists up a bit and something that sounds like a pig snort bursts from his lips.

"Oh man," he says. "Your poor mustache."

Belial is a professional servant, butler to His Highness, the crown prince. His job is to attend to every need his master may have (whether He knows it or not). His job is to be invisible. His job is to maintain the utmost courtesy to His Highness and His Highness's guests.

It is, on occasion, a very difficult thing to do. (The mustache is trying very hard to grow back.)

"Quite," Belial says.

"Mustache? What mustache?" says the one responsible for burning it off.

His Highness towers over most mortals (most demons, too). So it makes for an unusual (Belial is too good at his job to use the word "hilarious") sight to see him propped up by the young Fujimoto.

His Highness squints and lurches forwards to get a better look, dragging young Fujimoto from his own support.

"Whoa! Fuc—" Fujimoto says.

The two of them knock into each other, stumble, and His Highness barely manages to spin them both upright before they (Fujimoto) plasters them(him)selves on the floor.

Fujimoto starts to giggle, which sets off His Highness. Belial stands there and watches them and sighs (just a little).

* * *

Their clothing reeks of alcohol. Young Fujimoto reeks of alcohol. The only reason His Highness doesn't as well is because His demon physiology is too busy burning through the intoxication to let it seep anywhere else.

They're still laughing when Belial enters His Highness's bedchambers, a fresh set of clothing (belonging to Sebastien the footman; His Highness point-blank refused (rightfully) to share his own with the "sweating, stinking ape.").

"And then Sigyn shows up," His Highness says (the words slightly slurred). "But I knew she was coming, of course. And so I had—ah, good."

His Highness spots Belial, waves a lollipop towards the bed.

"There," He says. To Fujimoto, "You can change out of that… that…."

"Mess," His face seems to say.

Fujimoto, propped up with a small mound of cushions, glances blearily to the clothing Belial carries. He makes no move to stand. Belial picks his way carefully over the young man to deposit the items on the bed.

"I can't believe you were married," Fujimoto says.

"I've had many wives," His Highness says. "And husbands. And many others besides~."

"Such a _slut_. God, I can't _believe_ you."

"Variety is the spice of life. He that does not sample all the wonders of the night regrets it come the dawn."

Fujimoto buries his face in his hands and mumbles something that sounds awfully much like, "Jesus."

His Highness smiles and stares off beyond time. Then he spots Belial (still standing by the bed, Fujimoto has shifted and he cannot step over him within the bounds of propriety).

"Ah, yes, Sigyn," His Highness says. "She knew I had my dalliances. And she allowed it—such things were more adaptable in pagan societies. But this time, Freya—and she was a stunning creature—she'd been filling Sigyn's ears with gossip, and Sigyn decided that enough was enough. And so one morning she comes marching into my hall demanding to see the bedsheets."

From the sound of it, Fujimoto is choking on his own tongue.

"But Belial, he'd had the maids up all night doing the washing. She found not a speck. And the women—"

"Holy fuck, they were still there? I thought you said you knew she was coming over?"

"And she would then be leaving."

The significance coating His Highness's words drip off to spatter the floor.

Fujimoto stares. His Highness smiles pleasantly.

"So you hid the hookers?" Fujimoto says.

"They were upstanding ladies of the house of their jarl—and my host—Skoglar Toste. One of them was his daughter; Sigrid was a treat, but one very carefully handled."

"Wait, how many women did you, you uh, were there?"

His Highness's face goes completely blank for a moment. (Belial wonders just how much alcohol He's imbibed to still be affecting Him thus.)

"Six?" His Highness says. "Seven?

Fujimoto stares once again.

His Highness doesn't seem to notice. "So Belial here, he hides them in his own bedchamber. Because Sigyn was of high birth. She would never lower herself to visit the servants' quarters."

The look Fujimoto casts to Belial is a curious mix of confusion, incredulity, and a touch of sympathy.

"That's so messed up," Fujimoto says. "How long did it take her to leave again?"

"A few days."

"And what, you just kept them in his room?"

"Of course. Where else would they have gone?"

"But what about Belial-san?"

"What of him?"

And here, Fujimoto's eyes scrunch up. "Wow, that's harsh."

His Highness blinks. He glances again to Belial, back to Fujimoto. Belial can literally see the question mark hanging over Him.

Apparently, so can young Fujimoto. "Seriously? You don't see how fucked up that is? I know you're demons and all, but come _on_."

His Highness stares. (It must have been a great deal of alcohol, which is odd as His Highness is usually careful not to allow himself too many excesses.) Belial eyes the door. He could likely hop the distance and skip entirely around Fujimoto, but then the young man looks at him again and Belial must stay where he is (it would be rude to interrupt His Highness's guest).

"Does he pull this crap with you guys a lot?" Fujimoto says.

Belial holds his tongue.

Fujimoto apparently takes it for a "yes" because he then says, "Man, I don't know why you'd keep working with this guy."

At this, His Highness splutters. "I am _royalty_. There are thousands of demons clamoring to serve me."

"Yeah, 'cause they don't have much of a choice, do they?"

"Demon rules~. I wouldn't expect a monkey to understand."

"What's to understand? You waltz around here like some drag-queen diva and Belial-san—"

(Belial wishes Fujimoto would kindly stop referring to him with that suffix as it's drawing His Highness's attention.)

"—and the others get to scurry around after you cleaning up your mess."

Were Fujimoto a demon, Belial expects he would be vaporized on the spot. It's something none of the Staff (nor any demon wishing to keep his skin on the outside of his person) would ever utter.

And from the look His Highness wears, He's thinking the same thing.

(Belial starts to (subtly) edge out of His Highness's line of sight.)

"As I said," His Highness says in a low, measured tone that may or may not send every hair on Belial's body standing to attention. "A low-born _human_ such as yourself couldn't possibly comprehend it."

"Oh yeah?" Fujimoto says with nothing less than a suicidal gleam in his eye. "I bet you couldn't do Belial's job."

Millennia of training and a solid core of sheer Professionalism are the only things that keep Belial from spitting up blood then and there.

His Highness scoffs and turns his gaze to His servant. He gives Belial a once over (it's a very good thing his jacket is such a dark color) and then returns His scrutiny to the (idiot) young man.

"For how long?" His Highness says.

(No.)

Fujimoto plays the tip of his tongue over his teeth as he considers. Then he says, "This weekend. Starting tomorrow, 'cause I don't want you to weasel in some lessons or some shit before next weekend."

"And if I win?"

(Please no.)

"Then I work for you for a weekend."

The image of that calamity is so hilarious it almost thaws the sheet of ice (and doom) wrapped around Belial's heart.

Almost.

His Highness clearly finds it as amusing. He scoffs and says, "And if I lose?"

There's another gleam in Fujimoto's eyes, one Belial can't place. "Then your staff gets the weekend off."

The meaning of the words don't even register. Belial hears the sounds, hears the way the pieces come together to form what should be a whole, but strung together in that fashion, they make no sense.

"I'm sorry?" His Highness says, also (apparently) having translation issues.

"Your staff. Belial-san and the others. You lose, and they get a weekend off. You have to waltz around in your mansion all by yourself, princess."

"That's hardly fair. One of you for dozens of them? I want a month."

"_What_? Now who's not being fair?"

"It's perfectly equitable. Should I lose the bet, I lose far more man hours than I would gain should I win. It's an adequate exchange—a bargain, even. I could hold you to make up _all_ of their hours~."

This isn't happening. Belial isn't hearing this. His physical form has been damaged (or both His Highness and His guest are too intoxicated and the sentences floating in the air are mere intoxicated gibberish and that's why Belial can't quite grasp their meaning).

Young (stupid, sadistic) Fujimoto huffs and says, "Fine. On one condition."

The arched eyebrow His Highness lifts is unimpressed.

"A butler's gotta have an employer to serve, right?"

Belial can see quite distinctly where this is headed.

So can His Highness.

"No," He says.

"Well then what's the point? I don't or can't understand demon rules 'cause I don't have to live with them, yeah? And you said yourself that demons either command or obey. So if there's no one for you to…."

Fujimoto trails off. The expression on His Highness's face is a perfect snapshot of unadulterated lewdness.

"If you wanted to experiment with _that_—"

"Fucking Christ, you pervert! No!"

His Highness sighs and leans back to recline on his own mound of plushies (the leer still lingers). "And why would I set a reckless person such as you loose amongst my personal belongings?"

"What the hell can I do to your stuff?"

His Highness stares at the pocket where Fujimoto keeps his cigarettes.

"Fine, fine. I won't smoke around your hideous furniture. And it's not like you couldn't just snap your fingers and fix everything anyway. Come on, princess. I _dare_ you."

Fujimoto had saved them all from His Highness's fit of eccentricity (Belial will not use the b-word). The Staff had to be persuaded not to secret offerings into his dorm room for over a week afterwards. And now he's done this.

"Agreed," His Highness says.

Fujimoto has damned them all.

* * *

I'm so sorry for not posting last week. (I had to work a bunch of over-time, including the weekend, thus I had no time to write). But this one's done and the next (and last) chapter should be up on time next weekend.


	5. Make it Stop: Part I

**5\. Make it Stop: Part I**

The sun slumbers beneath the edge of the world. Beyond the glass and the wooden window frames, birds chirp into the emerging dawn.

Belial sits at the (small) desk he keeps in his (small) room and stares at nothing in particular. He's dressed in full uniform (freshly pressed). The lights are off and the sheets on his (also small and wedged into the corner to allow for a sliver of leg room) bed lay undisturbed. The sky outside begins to pale.

He allows himself to run his (un-gloved) hands through his hair and slump a bit. But only for a moment. He then straightens, smooths his hair back down, and picks up his gloves. They slide on, familiar, and he takes a small measure of comfort in the sensation. He takes a deep breath, checks outside again to confirm that, yes (sadly) the sun is rising. It's technically morning.

Belial knows without checking that around him, the Staff is taking this moment to collect themselves as best they can. Erynes has likely forgone her nightly alcoholic binge (and is currently questioning her life choices). Ukobach is likely already in the kitchens, reading his domain for the coming onslaught. Kimris is likely pacing back and forth in the narrow confines of the room she shares with two other maids, debating the merits of continuing this line of work.

They all know what is coming. The moment His Highness had dismissed Belial from His bedchamber the night before, Belial had steamed through the hallways to find Erynes. They were going to need all the forewarning they could get.

And here it is. Saturday morning, the first day of young (idiotic) Fujimoto's bet.

His Highness will be taking over Belial's duties. In the millennia Belial has spent at His Highness's side, His Highness has never done such a thing. He's the crown prince. He doesn't (directly) dirty His own claws. Ever.

Belial inhales deeply through his nose. The only way through this is to take things one step at a time (the motto he lives his own life by, as it is, on occasion, the sole guide through the complex, often contradictory maze of demands His Highness bestows upon His Staff). Every minute, every hour that passes without disaster will be a victory. He knows it. Erynes knows it. Together, they will keep Fujimoto (the cretin) from provoking His Highness into tearing the mansion and its inhabitants apart.

And so, Belial waits alone in the dark.

It's not hiding, exactly.

* * *

The first summons occur eight minutes after eight o'clock. (This is disappointing, as Belial was counting on young Fujimoto to be too hungover to stir before noon or, preferably, sometime closer to evening.) It comes in the form of tiny ringing.

When His Highness wishes for something (that Belial has not already anticipated and is waiting in the wings to provide for), he can summon one of the Staff with a thought, a wordless instruction that is felt (and not, strictly, heard) as faint tapping behind the right ear. It's the way Belial can understand Ukobach's chattering (though the noises he emits aren't words in any language). It's the way demons communicate when they're not in possession of a physical body.

Young Fujimoto (and Belial still doesn't know how His Highness became intoxicated enough to allow this) has no demon communication and must rely on a bell to call for assistance.

One which he is ringing. One which is summoning His Highness.

Belial stands, tugs his waistcoat down to smooth the shoulders, and opens his door.

To find every other door in the hall open, heads poking out, a wordless thrill of curiosity, dread, and faint awe humming in the air around them.

The Staff listens in silence. Footsteps click on marble somewhere above them. His Highness is on the move.

Technically, Belial's position has been replaced. But that doesn't mean he has to abandon ship. He steps out and shuts his door. He meets Erynes's gaze (at the far end; she hasn't stepped out). They have A Moment. Then Belial nods and turns and heads out into the mansion.

* * *

It's a simple request. Belial waits out of sight of His Highness's commandeered bedchambers (though not out of earshot). Breakfast of the traditional Japanese variety. On a tray. With a small bouquet of wild flowers.

Easily managed.

He hops across space and down to the next floor (he usually refrains from doing so inside the mansion, as it drains him a bit and draws His Highness's attention). But he's got a Staff to keep together and protocol be damned.

Ukobach is unsurprised to see him. The little demon is perched atop the main preparation counter, tapping a wooden ladle in one hand.

"_It started?_" he says.

"Yes," Belial says and relays young Fujimoto's instructions.

Ukobach nods and vaults over to the stove.

"You should wait for His Highness to reach us," Belial says. He's aiding His Highness in His bet, and Belial's not sure if that counts as cheating (again, Staff, protocol, damned).

Ukobach snorts (it sounds like a small dog sneezing). "_As if He'll even notice._"

(To be more precise, it should be, "As if He'd even care." Fujimoto had specified that His Highness was unable to ask for help. He failed to ban the Staff from acting on their own to save their own skins.)

(Belial wonders how long it'll take for young Fujimoto to catch onto that.)

The echo of footsteps announce His Highness's arrival. Belial makes himself scarce (ducking into a pantry isn't hiding so much as making oneself discreet—the scullery maid he finds himself pressed against must share that same, impeccable sense of decorum).

"Oh~" His Highness says. Ukobach already has a pot of water on the stove, flames licking the bottom. "I see you've already anticipated the new _master_."

(It's not so much a sneer as it is a _challenge_.)

Ukobach (wisely) refrains from comment.

His Highness opens his mouth and then they all hear the tingling of the bell. (Beside Belial, the scullery maid goes as stiff as a corpse).

Through the thin strip of paneling on the pantry door, Belial can see an equally thin strip of His Highness's face. He's unamused. Unsurprised, but unamused all the same. (The maid's breathing turns shaky.)

His Highness turns heel and departs.

Only then does Belial crack the door and slip out (alone, the maid valiantly holding her position inside).

"_That scrawny idiot is biting off more than he can chew_," Ukobach says. For the barest moment, Belial allows himself to wonder who he's talking about. "_You go on. I'll keep the lid tamped down here, you'll be busy enough everywhere else._"

He's got a point. Belial nods and says, "Good luck."

"_I don't need luck. Even idiots know not to piss off the cook._"

(Belial's not sure how much time, exactly, Ukobach has spent in young Fujimoto's presence.)

* * *

Three different summons later and young Fujimoto gets a breakfast he finds acceptable. His Highness is hiding his exasperation well (as to be expected). It's one hour and twelve minutes into the bet.

"So what do you even do during the day?" Fujimoto says. (His voice is muffled but Belial—who does not have his ear pressed to the wall—can still make it out).

"Whatever you wish, sir," His Highness says.

Whatever others (Fujimoto) say about His Highness's (supposed) arrogance, He's remarkably fast at picking things up. True to the arrangement, His Highness has not asked Belial about the proper protocol in addressing superiors. And yet, His Highness mimics the detached tone perfectly.

"So if I wanna throw a pool party this afternoon, you could handle the arrangements?" Fujimoto says.

"The grounds does not currently possess a pool, sir."

"But that's what you're for, Sammy."

Belial actually _hears_ His Highness twitch.

"Indeed," His Highness says.

"Yeah. I want a pool party. With a buffet. I've never had an American hamburger, have you? I want one. And some of those scones I've seen you scarfing down with your tea. Oh! And ice cream. You kept jabbering about that stuff in Italy, right? I'll try some of that."

It's doable, especially if His Highness realizes that His new duties include delegating tasks to lower servants.

"And I don't want you just poofing it around," Fujimoto says. "It makes _me_ feel like shit, god knows what it might do to food. I want it fresh and un-poofed."

Fujimoto's tone alone is pushing it. Belial glances back to make sure he's got a clean shot to the service corridor seven feet to his left.

"And Ukobach worked hard this morning, so I don't want him cooking anything. I want some authentic foreign food."

A pause. His Highness says, "You would like me to fetch it for you, sir?"

"Yup. That shouldn't be hard for you. You've got those keys, you can just drop in."

Those "keys" are access portals, the metaphorical station at the end of a rail line His Highness has previously laid down. To Belial's knowledge, none of them "drop in" to the locations required for young (stupid) Fujimoto's orders.

And His Highness is aware of that.

"As you wish," His Highness says.

He'll have to create the doors He needs. Rapidly. Which shouldn't be a problem, as He is the King of Time—

"Can Belial do that freeze-time thing?" Fujimoto says.

(Belial wonders what he's done to offend the young man, to bring him into this.)

This pause lasts longer and Belial can only imagine the flat, dead stare His Highness must be wearing. He must know where this is going.

"No," His Highness says.

"Huh. Well, I don't want you doing it, either. I mean, Belial could handle this without it, right?"

The night before, both His Highness and young Fujimoto had clearly been intoxicated. But Belial is beginning to wonder just how much of that (in Fujimoto's case) had been genuine. Because this is beginning to smell like a set-up.

"As you wish," His Highness says.

"All right then," Fujimoto says. "I'll call you when I need something."

Discretion, as usual, is the better part of valor. When His Highness emerges, Belial isn't around to see it.

**To be continued….**

* * *

AN: I had two choices: finish the chapter entirely and post it late, or cut it down and post part of it on time (and further extend the fic. Seriously, this thing just won't stop (send help)). I chose the former. Part II will be up next Saturday (unless I finish it early).

Again, thanks so much to everyone who has favorited and followed and reviewed this fic (sorry Yoko-Zuki10 and luzmela1 for not replying to your reviews; this week was somewhat hectic).


	6. Make it Stop: Part II

**6\. Make it Stop: Part II**

The next hour is quiet. It's an eerie calm, the kind that oversees the Staff literally tip-toeing through the halls (once Belial convinces them that it's safe to emerge from behind various articles of furniture).

The laundry maids keep their gossip to hushed whispers that Erynes doesn't even bother to glare at. The parlor maids sweep and scrub as silently as they can, pausing their tasks to glance around the way a heard of antelope eye the grasslands around their watering hole.

Some of them, remembering the wastebasket incident, even remember to look up.

There's no real danger. Not yet. His Highness has buried himself in one of the drawing rooms and Belial can feel the distant, unsettling sensation of space twisting like ribbons caught in a breeze.

Belial's got enough time to prepare.

Young Fujimoto had said nothing of inviting company to his impromptu party (either because he knows that inviting strangers to tromp through His Highness's personal dominion would be overstepping the boundaries (unlikely) or (more likely) his classmates possess the shred of self-preservation instinct young Fujimoto apparently lacks).

A party for one (even with exotic demands) is doable.

"What did he say about the layout?" Erynes says. "Which tables do we use? Is he expecting decorations?"

Belial, seated (for once, and it's even more unsettling than the uncharacteristic hush fallen over the hallways), sighs. "He didn't."

Meaning he'll leave it up to His Highness.

Erynes appears to be struggling not to roll her eyes. "He'll make a nuisance out of that, then."

Erynes, as far as Belial knows (and that's everything), has spent no time in Fujimoto's company. And yet she's still able to get a read on him.

"Likely," Belial says.

"I'll keep my girls on a rotating roster, cycle them out if—"

(They both know it's not "if" but "when".)

"—things start getting out of control. Keep the burnout lower. If we play this right, we should be able to keep everything together."

Sort of. None of them are high-ranking demons and should His Highness reach some kind of critical mass, there is nothing between heaven or hell that can stop him. And they all know it.

(Belial cannot (and would not dare) suggest some kind of evacuation plan. But demons, if nothing else, have a singular talent for saving their own hides. Should things go spectacularly wrong, Belial knows without asking that at least a decent part of the Staff would have the good sense to bail (even if only momentarily).)

"What I don't get," Erynes says. "Is what the play on this is."

"I beg your pardon?" Belial says.

"The boy. What he's planning."

Belial's still not sure there's much "planning" to be found in this. Gut reaction, maybe. Suicidal sadism, certainly.

"What his strategy is," Erynes clarifies.

(Ah.)

"Aside from being irritating?" Belial says.

Erynes waves a hand. "That's not enough to derail His Highness."

Which is true. His Highness has seven younger siblings and millennia upon millennia's experience dealing with humans. Young Fujimoto may (he already has) irritated His Highness, but it won't be enough.

Then again, Fujimoto has shown an unerring ability to get under His Highness's skin. (The entire Staff has heard about the Tea Incident.)

"It's not our place to speculate," Belial says. "We've only to deal with it as it unfolds."

Erynes sighs again. "True. Still…a day off. I wonder what that would be like?"

It's an alien concept, so futile that Belial would have an easier time trying to trap the wind in a sieve. It's then that something tugs at him, something low and deep, a sense of Importance.

He frowns, opens his mouth—

The bell jingles.

Belial casts out the net of his consciousness, catches a trace of His Highness. He's only halfway in this plane of existence—smack in the middle of weaving a portal together.

One of the footmen—carrying a case of silver in need of a polishing—stops. His gaze meets Belial's.

(That will do.)

"Go and see what our young master wishes," Belial says.

"My lord," the footman says with a bow. He sets the chest down on a cabinet and hurries off.

Technically, it's no longer Belial's job to monitor the servant. Technically, that would be up to His Highness.

Belial stands.

"Don't get caught," Erynes says.

"It's my job not to," he says.

* * *

The footman has left the door open (Belial marks this; it's just sloppy). It does help with the eavesdropping, however (so the mark is only a partial).

"—Sammy?" young Fujimoto says.

Belial _feels_ the footman twitch.

"His Highness is currently occupied," the footman says.

Belial winces. True, this is a mere footman—the demon hasn't been trained as well as the higher level servants in properly responding to inquiries from their master. And yet, Belial has interviewed every member of the Staff to weed out the ill-bred, the unsuited, and the stupid. Clearly, he must have overlooked this one.

A member of the Staff (even a temporary one) is never too busy to do her or his job.

Young Fujimoto (new at this) doesn't pick up on the gross insult. All he says is, "Well, I need him up here."

There's a pause (a lot of the Staff seems to be doing this lately) where Belial can nearly see the footman wondering how he's supposed to address this odd stand-in. He settles for, "Sir, I believe—"

And Belial can't stand there anymore.

In one stride he's crossed into the room and inserted himself between the footman and young Fujimoto (cutting the demon off and shielding his incompetence from view).

"How may I be of assistance?" Belial says.

Fujimoto stares at him for a moment, his eyebrows rising slowly towards his hairline. "Where'd you—did you do the stop-time thing?"

"No, Fujimoto-san," Belials says. (Fujimoto makes a face at the honorific.)

Fujimoto eyes the door, returns his gaze to Belial. Belial does not explain.

"I thought old Sammy—"

This time, it's Belial twitching.

"—was taking your spot for the day?"

"His Highness is performing the tasks you set to him, sir. Just as I would be."

"But you're here."

"Indeed."

Silence.

The footman, incompetent though he may be, is wise enough to take advantage of an easy exit when presented. He backs out of the room.

"_Find His Highness_," Belial nudges across the space between them, demon to demon, undetectible to humans. Out loud, "My apologies, Fujimoto-san. Was there something…?"

But Fujimoto is making a face again. This isn't a twist of discomfort, a facial recoil of adolescent awkwardness and unsurety. This is more of a puzzled look, equal parts confusion and curiosity.

"What was that?" Fujimoto says.

"I'm sorry?" Belial says.

"That. You said something."

"Yes, I was explaining—"

"No, I mean, to the other guy."

There's the translation issues again. Belial had considered himself quite fluent in Japanese until he'd met this budding hell-raiser.

"I don't understand your meaning, Fujimoto-san."

Fujimoto doesn't answer right away. He's scrutinizing Belial, gaze raking over his physical form.

"It wasn't in Japanese, though," Fujimoto says.

Something crawls down Belial's spine to skitter along his tail. "I beg your pardon?"

And by the look on Fujimoto's face, he's not the only one feeling troubled. Fujimoto shakes his head. "Nevermind. Sammy, could you go get him for me? I got something he needs to do."

"Of course," Belial says with a bow. When he straightens, Fujimoto is smoothing down his mask of careless idiocy.

"Oh, and Belial-san? You're not helping the old goat, are you?"

(Technically he's helping himself and the rest of the Staff.)

"Of course not," Belial says.

"Good. I'd hate for the clown to lose on a technicality. It'd suck the joy right out of this thing."

_Lose on a technicality_. One that could well be placed at Belial's feet.

Beneath Fujimoto's face, beneath that well-polished devil-may-care exterior, Belial senses something dark and nasty churning beneath the boy's surface.

He wonders if Fujimoto is aware of it.

**To be continued….**

* * *

AN: Apparently, this thing is just gonna keep on going. This seemed like a good place to stop, so yeah.

_On demon telepathy_: Rin mentioned it in the third volume of the manga, when he could hear Kuro and the exorcists couldn't. I'm willing to bet that Shiro could, too (because of a certain imprint?) Anywho, it made sense to me that for demons, that's the main form of communication, being non-physical beings lacking vocal chords and all. Which I imagine would freak Shiro right the fuck out when he realizes he can listen in to it.


	7. Make it Stop: Part III

**7\. Make it Stop: Part III**

Belial find His Highness in one of the rarely-used drawing rooms tucked away in a (what would have been dusty, had the parlor maids not been so vigilant with their jobs) corner of the Faust mansion. His Highness is physically there, seated in a hard-backed chair with the sleeves of His jacket rolled up, his hands folded in His lap. But one glance and Belial can tell that the bulk of His Highness is not present.

A wisp of His power has escaped the physical confines of His host body. It's not much, nothing to be concerned over, but it's still somewhat disorienting to be around. The air itself feels unstable. The room swims a bit as Belial glances around, almost as if he's peering through softly rippling water.

Belial clears his throat.

His Highness has noticed Him. His attention is a physical thing, brushing quickly over Belial (and making his skin crawl). A moment later, His Highness disengages from His task. His presence filters back into the mansion and the room rights itself.

"What?" His Highness says.

"I'm terribly sorry, master, but young Fujimoto is asking for you," Belial says.

"Have one of the others do it."

Belial must pause to consider his phrasing. Then, "He was somewhat specific. It was a job for you."

His Highness hums (it's not a grunt, He would never let such an undignified sound escape him). He stands and several vertebrae pop into place. He rolls His sleeves back down, inhales slowly, and says, "Fine."

* * *

Belial tags along several paces behind His Highness (it's not quite lurking). He keeps out of sight, treading softly as not to be heard, but keeps himself within earshot. (It might, possibly by a stretch of the terminology, be lurking.)

Young Fujimoto is sprawled out in the manga room, a stack of books lying haphazardly on the floor, his feet crossed over the arm of the divan he's commandeered (it's over two hundred years old).

He's wearing shoes.

His Highness has (for a demon) an impressive amount of self-control. But the sight of His books discarded so sloppily and the sheer audacity young Fujimoto possesses in propping footwear (dirty, where did he even get them from?) up on His furniture, sends a near-invisible shudder down his spine.

(To Belial's mind, it's a remarkably feline reaction.)

"How may I be of assistance?" His Highness says.

(Considering Fujimoto's glaring lack of any shred of common sense whatsoever, it's unlikely he hears the edge in His Highness's voice.)

"Could you hand me the one over there?" Fujimoto says.

A pause. The silence takes on an ominous weight.

"Just, the ones over there, on that shelf. The Grendizer ones."

"I'm sorry, sir," the Edge to His Highness's voice drops the room temperature at least five degrees Centigrade. "You summoned me to fetch you a book?"

"Yeah. I'm almost done with this stack, so I wanna start those ones next. You're always on my ass about 'expanding my horizons' so now I am. Buck up, Sammy, and hand me the manga."

Belial sees the unspoken words, "_You summoned me for this._" hovering over His Highness's head. After another (long, terrible) silence, His Highness creaks into movement and Belial cannot stop the relieved sigh from escaping his own mouth.

"Will that be all, sir?" His Highness says.

Fujimoto grunts (and Belial shudders). His Highness takes that for the dismissal it probably is, and exits. Belial again (cautiously) shadows him back towards the drawing room.

* * *

They're three hours and forty-five minutes into the bet. It's going (relatively) well. Down the corridor and His Highness—wound up, nearly vibrating beneath His skin—is beginning to relax. Down the corridor, through one of the entertainment rooms, and they emerge into one of the grand hallways.

Outside, the sunlight glints golden over the hedge of roses. Bees dip and bob. Inside, Kimris and a small posse of parlor maids is busy dusting the heavy, velvet drapes. They curtsey as His Highness passes through.

It's going very well, all things considered. If they can get through this afternoon, it should be an easy(ier) stretch to this evening when, unlike His Highness, young Fujimoto requires sleep. That should give them six hours respite at least. It should be enough to rally the Staff to push through the final day (what happens when Fujimoto joins their ranks after this will be another matter entirely, but Belial has handled worse).

They're almost through the hallway when the little hellspawn in the library rings his tiny bell.

The sound ripples softly through the hallway, yet it tears through the Staff like an avalanche. The maids all freeze and Kimris stops breathing.

His Highness appears to hit an invisible wall.

Kimris meets Belial's gaze.

"_Do we-_" she seems to say.

Belial shakes his head (it's really more of a twitch).

The maids edge back, press against the wall as subtly as they can. His Highness takes a breath. Then he turns (the movement is so slow and deliberate and it jangles loose instincts Belial has buried deep to run fast, run hard, and run _now_).

Kimris (she's getting a promotion when this is over) manages to force herself to move, lifting her small brush to continue sweeping off the drapes (while sending a glare and a hard command ricocheting through the other maids). They resume their duties (it's a bit stiff and a bit awkward, but considering the effort it's taking Belial to remain where he is, it's an admirable job).

His Highness says nothing. He simply glides back the way He came.

"That idiot's going to get someone killed," Kimris says.

None of them say it, but they're all thinking it: "_Hopefully himself._"

* * *

Fujimoto wants snacks.

"_Snacks_," His Highness says and His voice isn't quite human.

Belial has increased the distance from which he tails His Highness (no point in risking it). The irritation roils from His Highness like steam from a boiling pot. The Staff in their way easily pick up on it in time to make themselves scarce.

Into the kitchen and something has changed, something isn't right. It's _quiet_. Of course, some of the Staff are present, but Ukobach is nowhere to be seen. It appears to throw His Highness for a loop as well, as He draws up short and stand there and blinks for a moment. Then He hisses something (literally and those suppressed instinct start to shriek).

It occurs to Belial that His Highness hasn't (for some time) had to physically search for something in the kitchens. His Highness continues to stand there, looking around at tidy counters, the pots and pans hanging on the wall, closed cabinets. He may not know where to find the snacks.

It's an effort to speak (for some reason, Belial's human vocal chords don't seem to want to work). He clears his throat (discreetly), and tries again, managing a, "I believe the requested items are in the pantry over there."

His Highness says nothing, simply strides over and opens the door. The maid inside jumps a little and a small sound (suspiciously like a squeak) escapes her before she claps her hands over her mouth. His Highness ignores her, using His greater height to browse over her head while she stands there, petrified, staring straight ahead. Then He spots what He's looking for. He reaches around the maid, grabs two instant ramen cups and a packet of crisps and shuts the door.

Though young Fujimoto had banned His Highness from "poofing" items, he failed to specify any other limitations. So as His Highness turns, one of the silver serving trays lifts itself from the its hook on the wall and casually drifts over. His Highness sets his burden on it, takes a deep breath, and—

The bell rings.

-completely stills.

Along with every single demon in the kitchen. For two seconds, nothing whatsoever happens. The dust motes drifting in the air have the good sense to stay where they are (so perfectly, Belial wonders for a moment whether His Highness has frozen time). The His Highness curls one of His gloved hands into a fist.

It's a small movement, slow and deliberate. The three scullery maids (wiping down the china) and the two footmen (polishing the silverware) all see it. What happens next (Belial notes, with approval) is one of the finest displays of an orderly retreat the Staff has ever managed, as none of them drop what they're doing to flee. (Though in the less-than-a-second it takes for His Highness to relax His hand, the kitchen has utterly emptied itself. But it was handled with poise and decorum, and thus there's no fault in it.)

His Highness doesn't slump (that would be undignified). He merely straightens himself after a moment and walks back out.

Belial isn't sure whether or not to follow him (and if he carries the tray, would that technically be violating the bet?).

(No, he decides, as any footman could perform that task and thus it does not strictly fall under his duties as the butler.)

The Staff, being demons of the highest caliber, are nowhere to be found as Belial (it's not, technically, scurries) after His Highness. He takes up position in the darkened corridor outside of the library doors, tray balanced expertly with one hand, just in time to hear:

"—don't want 'em anymore," Fujimoto says. "You know what sounds good?"

Belial is quite certain that His Highness neither knows nor cares.

"Takoyaki. There's this shop down near Mephy-Land sells some awesome takoyaki. Why don't you run down there and get me some? That'll still leave you an hour until the pool party."

Belial's not sure whether the low vibration is His Highness grinding His teeth or the mansion rattling on its foundation.

"Of course, sir," His Highness says. He exits the library with all the latent fury of a building thunderstorm.

Belial sets the tray down and tags along (keeping at least the space of a room between them, this time.)

It could very well be a hallucination, but Belial seems to hear, "Oh, I'll get him _snacks_."

* * *

AN: Aaand it just keeps going. The good news is that the ending is beginning to take shape, so I'm working towards a goal here. I'm so sorry I didn't respond to reviews this time (there was a lot going on these last two weeks). Things have settled and hopefully this boat can keep on sailing smoothly to the finish line. But thank everyone who's reviewed and favorited and followed this so far.


	8. Playing Dirty

I've gotta be somewhere at the crack of dawn, so here's this chapter a bit early.

* * *

**8: Playing Dirty**

His Highness is the master of His domain. Should He wish it (and He usually does) he can warp the maze of hallways into a single, straight path to the front door (not that He uses such a banal thing as a front door often). But Belial is the highest-ranking servant in His Highness's employ, and he has spent _years_ traversing the corridors of the Faust mansion with (little or) no help from magic (rather, with-no-help-and-a-double-dose-of-active-hindrance when His Highness is in a Mood).

So it's really no surprise that, since He's barred from "poofing", Belial makes it there before His Highness does.

Belial says nothing as His Highness emerges from the hallway. It would be inaccurate to say that His turbulent mood has lifted. That doesn't occur for one of their kind and not in one such as He. His Highness does not leave his temper to simmer where all the world can see. He closes it up, channels it into the great engines called Calculation and Vengeance and it's these twin behemoths that Belial can see churning behind His eyes.

(Luckily, proper decorum states that as a servant, Belial is not to meet his master's eyes, not for more than a moment. In this case, that's far more than enough.)

His Highness doesn't quite pause (though the subtle shift of his head indicates amusement). Belial bows and opens the door.

It's a glorious morning. Or maybe it's the fact that Belial is _outside_ of the mansion and not _within_ its dread-drenched walls. Either way, the sky is a deep blue, dotted with perfect puffs of perfectly white clouds. (Assiah's sky is, in Belial's humble opinion, its best feature. It has moods and color, it changes not only from day to night, but from day to day and even hour to hour. Such a difference from Gehenna's perpetually bloodied dusk.)

His Highness does not ask Belial why he trails Him down the driveway. Belial does not ask why they're using the driveway and not the rickety servants' stair that winds around the back of the mansion to the first tier of True Cross Town.

(It wouldn't be his place to wonder if it's because His Highness doesn't know those stairs even exist.)

Belial is simply content to tag along behind His Highness, winding down and around the hill (it's really a small mountain) towards town. The pavement warms the soles of his shoes and, in turn, the soles of his feet. Trees hiss and rustle below. The air is sweet and cool, whispering of later rain.

It's not very appetizing, not for a demon, but Belial's been able to glut himself on the fear and hostility of his fellows, and it's a welcomed break. One can have too much of a good thing and a palate-cleanser is always appreciated.

The air takes on a noticeable hum as they descend further. The road branches out and cars occasionally swish past. A squad of students jog huffing up the hill (maintaining their rectangular formation, which is almost impressive, for humans). Several of them glance to the two demons-in-suits apparently ambling down the road. But none of them say anything (small mercy from the Japanese, Belial has found, in that their politeness is a natural barrier to inconvenient questions).

Past the more affluent neighborhoods and their manicured (Belial will actually concede points on this) hedges and closed gates (humans, for all their insistence to the latter, share many things in common with demons, including their greatest fear: their own).

Down past the sprawling school grounds, the roar and clatter of a train leaving the upper station, and really, Belial still doesn't know why His Highness has decided to walk the distance.

Their target is easy to spot. Or, rather, to smell (another of the Things of Assiah Belial appreciates: humans can and do eat just about everything and have spent a significant proportion of their time in this world thinking of thousands of ways to prepare their thousands of ingredients).

It's the grease of oil, the tang of onion, the savory smoke of grilled meat: young Fujimoto's takoyaki shop.

There's a small line which His Highness meanders to the back of. And Belial isn't sure whether he's relieved (causing a fuss attracts attention and Fujimoto already has His Highness out here without his customary attire (guaranteed to cast ripples into the gossip pond)), or vaguely uneasy (His Highness is a King, and as much care as He takes into blending in with humans, it's still, well, disturbing to see Him blending in with humans).

He does an excellent job of that (which is no surprise). Belial takes up position across the street, in the shade of (a pleasantly smoky) yakitori stand. There are two reasons for this:

1\. As His Highness has not requested Belial's presence, as he is here of his own (more or less) volition, Belial cannot intrude upon His Highness's space the way a personal (and requested) attendant might.

2\. From Belial's current vantage point—facing away from the customers at the yakitori stand—Belial does not have to see, up close and in person, the state of the humans in that line (he catches mere glimpses: the young men whose shirts hang sloppily over the hem of their trousers, the runny eyes and nose of the elderly woman near the front, the way the young man in a suit—)

Oh, _really _now!

(-picks at his ear and—)

_Why._

(—glances at his dug-up prize before flicking—)

This is absolutely atrocious.

(—the crust into the street.)

(Belial fervently hopes His Highness has not caught sight of that detail.

From the pinched-off frown, He has.)

Belial, as the butler to the Faust mansion, often makes excursions into the market place to secure the supplies Ukobach requires. But he has an established route and an established base of decent, courteous, and _groomed_ vendors to patronage. Those humans know when he will come around and what his expectations are and—as the Faust mansion is second only to the school in terms of sheer economic demand—they are more than happy to meet them.

But this? Mingling with this common, unwashed, barbarous, unhygienic—

And His Highness is ordering, all casual smiles, the lingering agitation expertly hidden. Moments later, He receives a white, paper tray filled with steaming contents. Only now, does Belial cross the street to take up his former position. And it's just in time to see His Highness staring at the dish, His head cocked.

It's a tray of takoyaki garnished with a small pile of shredded tsuyu and daikon. Which is why the (alarming) smile spreading on His Highness's face makes no sense.

His Highness does not elaborate. He says not a word as He whirls on His heels and makes for the closest closed door, Belial trotting after Him.

* * *

The kitchens are as empty as when they had left. His Highness blazes through the door and heads straight for the trashcan.

(It's so strange that the word, "what" very nearly tumbles off the tip of Belial's tongue; he catches it at the edge of the crevasse and hauls it back into the safety of silence.)

His Highness sets the tray down on the counter, whirls, and Belial actually has to hop (his neck begins to burn with embarrassment) to one side to avoid being ploughed through.

The pantry isn't just a storage for the dried snacks His Highness favors. Ukobach keeps quite a collection of various vegetable and herbs within (not all of them from Assiah). It's this section that His Highness rummages through. (The maid has made herself scarce, intelligence and adaptability being the two most important traits Belial looks for when taking on new members of the Staff.)

"Ah," His Highness says.

Humans say that eyes are the windows to the soul. Belial disagrees. He is not consigned to mere physical senses and so he doesn't have to (nor does he typically wish to) glance into his master's eyes. He can see His soul quite fine on his own.

His Highness is a King of Gehenna, a class of being so far above and removed from demonkind that even humans know to rank them as Other. Most demons have a rough comparison to creatures found in Assiah (a naga in its true form does resemble something of a snake); the Kings do not. Belial knows of stories of unfortunate humans who were cursed enough to catch a glimpse one of His Highness's brothers in their true form. Most of their descriptions were written down as the ramblings of a fevered madman.

His Highness is usually very careful to keep Himself contained, lashing himself down, in a way, to cram a portion of himself into a human body (the rest is kept locked in a seal beneath their feet). He rarely (as befitting one of his stature) lets it show.

Except when He gets excited.

Like right now.

As His Highness snaps His fingers and the tray upends itself, spilling a heap of grated vegetables onto the countertop, as the takoyaki balls bounce and roll a few inches, as a drawer pulls open and a grater whisks through the air, His Highness's tight control on his true self slips.

It's just a little, one string pulling loose in a tapestry of thousands. But it's enough. There are no words in any language to describe what Time itself looks like. There are no words in any language to describe the rushing, the twisting thing that has taken up residence in the body of Johann Faust, save to say that that tiny glimpse is like peering into the heart of a black hole—a void too vast and crushing to understand, a maelstrom of hopeless gravity mantled in the brilliance of a thousand dying stars.

Humans like to think that Assiah and Gehenna are separate places, that demons are alien to this world. This is wrong. Assiah and Gehenna are not two soap bubbles joined at the hip. Rather, they are two tapestries woven into each other to present a different image on each side. His Highness does not control the forces of time and space within this world, as the humans believe (had they known his correct identity). His Highness, branching out from the boundaries of Gehenna, forms the threads that weave the fabric of Assiah together. The crown prince does not control space and time. He _is_ space and time.

And that primal force, that entity beyond recognition, is hunched over the counter top. Giggling.

(That sound rockets up and blows right through the top of Belials Things-I-Wish-To-Have-Never-Seen list.)

(And he's not sure how, exactly, he ended up dangerously close to pressing himself up against a wall.)

"Master?" Belial says. (To his horror, his vocal chords have strained themselves and the sound is rather high-pitched.)

His Highness doesn't answer. Merely curls a finger and what looks like a large, gnarled, white carrot flips through the air to His Highness's hand.

It's horse radish.

A being of inconceivable power arranges the takoyaki back into its tray and begins to (in what could be as "lovingly") shred the horseradish over it.

For a moment, it doesn't make sense. For a moment, nothing about any of this makes any sense at all. Until the world begins to filter back into Belial's consciousness. Until the floor goes back to supporting him and the ceiling arches up over him and His Highness is humming the opening to _Majokko Megu-chan_ (it's really not Belial's place to suggest it's off tune).

His Highness, the crown prince of Gehenna, Satan's eldest, has stooped to poisoning young Fujimoto's meal.

With horse radish.

For one, suicidal moment, Belial almost laughs. Until the harsh tang reaches him and begins to burn his eyes, begins to curl the small hairs in his nostrils and his airways close off instinctively, throttling that laugh in the cradle of his throat.

(Young Fujimoto may be about as intelligent as a box of rocks, but even he will definitely notice that awful stench.)

His Highness straightens (He appears unaffected by the sinus-scorching reek). He snaps His fingers and just like that, the air is clear again.

There's hellfire in His eyes when He smiles and says, "Best get the snack to our _master_, eh?"

* * *

AN: Because Mephisto is an Eldritch Abomination who likes to watch _Berusaiyu no Bara_ and wear Hello Kitty hair clips.

"There was another angel in the seventh heaven, different in appearance from all the others, and of frightful men. His height was so great, it would have taken five hundred years to cover a distance equal to it, and from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet he was studded with glaring eyes, at the sight of which the beholder fell prostrate in awe." – You can't tell me that isn't what some poor bastard wrote down after witnessing Samael in his true guise and having his brains scrambled.

And Shiro likes to poke him with a stick.

Superiordimwit comment that poor Belial probably (after years of service to Mephisto) can't go out into public without everyone else's terrible manners giving him a brain aneurism. So I had to write that.


End file.
